I recall one night in the Matrix, when a road-person came in with a big pack on his back, shouting: “Anybody want some L…S…D…? I got all the makin’s right here. All I need is a place to cook.”
The manager was on him at once, mumbling, “Cool it, cool it, come on back to the office.” I never saw him after that night, but before he was taken away, the road-person distributed his samples.Huge white spansules. I went into the men’s room to eat mine. But only half at first, I thought. Good thinking, but a hard thing to accomplish under the circumstances. I ate the first half, but spilled the rest on the sleeve of my red Pendelton shirt…And then, wondering what to do with it, I saw one of the musicians come in. “What’s the trouble” he said.
“Well,” I said. “All this white stuff on my sleeve is LSD.”
He said nothing: merely grabbed my arm and began sucking on it. A very gross tableau. I wandered what would happen if some Kingston Trio/young stockbroker type might wander in and catch us in the act. Fuck him, I thought. With a bit of luck, it’ll ruin his life – forever thinking that just behind some narrow door in all his favourite bars, men in red Pendleton shirts are getting incredible kicks from things he’ll never know. Would he dare to suck a sleeve? Probably not. Play it safe. Pretend you never saw it….
Hunter S. Thompson